


Elementary

by CaptainCorale



Series: But Loving Him Was Red [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Character Study, Drinking, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3771799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCorale/pseuds/CaptainCorale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after recruiting Fenris, Hawke sits down with him for a few drinks in the pub and opens up a little more than he intended. (Act 1, purple mage male Hawke).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elementary

**Author's Note:**

> I just thought it would be fun to write our favourite boys in a more relaxed setting as they got to know each other a bit better, and showing how that initial attraction started between him. Poor baby Hawke falling hard and fast for Fenris, he is ridiculous. We all know Hawke can be flirty, but you only get glimpses of Fenris being flirtatious or forward. Nevertheless, I think we can assume from those that he's not some shy, flimsy, wilting 'yaoi uke' type. He has been 'free' by this point for about three years. Also, I realise that Sherlock Homes doesn't exist in Thedas, but hey, if Isabela can pull off 'I like big boats, I cannot lie'. I can do this.

The tavern was quietening down at this time of night, only a few of the most dedicated drunks and one tipsy barmaid loudly arguing with her boyfriend were still loitering around. Actually, on second thought, the man might have been her boss. Although Hawke had no idea really, being more than his fair share of pints down by this point. The pub was usually a filthy, stinking mess at the best of times, but by the end of the night...well, let's just say that Varric's little enclave had to be the only part of The Hanged Man that _didn't_ permeate the stench of stale vomit, thankfully.

The group of them were on their tenth round of Diamondback and the Maker only knew on what number of pints. Hawke wasn't a great player, he knew that well by now. But Anders, Maker have mercy on the man, Hawke thought. He might as well have just thrown his money at Fenris the second he walked through the pub door. Everyone was getting a kick out of watching the healer get more and more quietly wound up as the evening wore on. The funniest part was that the white haired elf had absolutely no idea how to play, he was half being coached by Isabela, and half just throwing down whatever he picked up haphazardly. They were witnessing the best beginner's luck in history of card games. By the time the elf had won the fifth round on his own, Anders ran his hands through his hair and made a long wailing noise into his wallet. Meanwhile, Hawke had tears rolling down his face in mirth, and Varric was laughing so hard it was totally soundless. He was just shaking, bent over in his chair and slapping his knee.

“Is it good,” asked Fenris. “Did I win?”

“I'm going to start rubbing Fenris's feet for luck,” shrieked Isabela, practically doubling over.

“Feet? Now, there's a change,” Aveline drawled.

“You'd think, wouldn't you, big girl?”

Even Fenris couldn't help chuckling warmly behind his hand in disbelief at their animated overreactions. While they all still cackled away, Hawke caught the elf touching his cheeks as though he still wasn't used to the expression on his face. He probably wasn't, Hawke thought sadly. The gesture reminded him of the first time he had visited the elf at his home after he'd promised them his aid for the upcoming expedition. He hadn't been sure what to expect as the elf had chewed him out pretty spectacularly after realising he was a mage. But they'd talked amicably enough and Hawke had made a lazy joke about him chucking the wine all over the place for decoration. The raspy laugh it coaxed from Fenris seemed like it came as a surprise, even to himself. The sound was like a rusted cog in a clock still trying to tick; trying to get through the next hour. But it had been nice to see the elf smile unguardedly.

Not much time had passed since then. They still didn't know each other terribly well. Unsurprisingly for a slave on the run, Fenris played his cards close to this chest (although not literally, at first) and Hawke knew he himself used his jokes to escape from any personal questions. Nevertheless, Hawke and Isabela continued to invite the elf to their quiet evenings in the pub. Even if he didn't spill his secrets to them, it pleased Hawke to see him out of that dingy mansion. Perhaps his mother's nurturing instincts were rubbing off on him and wouldn't that just crack Varric up to no end? At the very least, Hawke was keen to prove that he wasn't the blood-infatuated, insane, aspiring slave owner type of mage that Fenris expected him to be, if for nothing else than to put a stopper in the constant drip of anxiety he felt coming off him. It was good to see the elf smile again now and Hawke drunkenly resolved to make it happen more often.

Fenris decided to sit the next few rounds out, if for no other reason than to give their aching bellies a rest from laughter, nevermind poor Anders and his wallet. Not long after, Hawke joined him at the other end of the table having lost the last of his playing money for the night to Isabela, who had definitely cheated.

“So, tell me, Hawke,” said Fenris as they watched the rest of the group argue. His gravelly voice was still tense even through the several rounds of cheap ale that had passed between them throughout the evening. “What manner of mage are you?”

Hawke automatically glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening in on them. The motion caused Fenris to jolt in his seat and look around sharply, his large, wide eyes darting around the room.

“Uh,” Hawke started. “I was just checking for Templars,” he offered in way of explanation.

“I – yes, of course. I apologise.” Fenris cleared his throat, and took a drink.

Hawke felt guilty for having panicked the elf, but it wasn't just himself he had to worry about. If he got caught or investigated for magic, they would most likely discover Bethany's ability too. For all the mummy's boy jokes Varric threw his way, the thought of leaving his mother alone in Kirkwall with only her miserly brother for support was abhorrent to him. She wasn't an old or incompetent woman, by any means. But she wasn't cut out for life in Lowtown without father around. Gamlen would only abuse whatever faith or trust she had left in him. She was still wrought with grief over losing Carver too. It had only been a year, after all. If Bethany and himself were taken to the Circle, she would be devastated.

There was nobody nearby this time though. The waitress slapped the man who was maybe her boyfriend, but the sound was drowned out by Isabela giving a shout of triumph in her victory over Varric. Anders looked like he might flip the table, his hair unravelled from his ponytail.

“And I, uh, I told you already, didn't I,” Hawke finally replied, his speech slurring only slightly. He really couldn't really hold his drink, he realised. How sad, for a man of his size. Fenris looked almost unaffected, and he was much smaller too, Hawke thought with chagrin. “I'm just trying to get by. _Unnoticed_.” He pressed his finger to his lips in a 'ssh' gesture.

The elf sneered. “That's not what I meant. I've seen you fight, Hawke. But I haven't been able to identify a specific pattern. I am no expert, but I admit I'm curious. Don't you have a school?”

Hawke wondered briefly if Fenris was asking just to see if he would drunkenly blurt out that he was secretly a big blood-loving blood mage. He was almost tempted to say it, just to see the elf's reaction. He would probably lose a hand (or his head) for the joke, but it might just be worth it. Hawke was still weighing it up when he sluggishly realised that this was the elf attempting to make casual conversation with him. He laughed, feeling a little shy about his ability suddenly, which had always been more of a burden to him and his family, rather than something to be proud of.

“Why it's Elemental, my dear Fenris,” he said, a crooked smile taking over his face.

“My... _dear_?” He sounded equally perturbed and amused.

_Stop being a fool. He's from Tevinter, he won't even understand that reference. By The Maker, I need to put down the ale for the night._

He took another swig.

“It's from a, nevermind. It's a play on a line from a famous book in Ferelden. It was a joke. Not very funny.”

“Hm. Nothing unusual there then,” Fenris drawled at him, smirking.

Hawke's eyebrows shot into his hairline as a huff of laughter escaped him. Having to do a double take, he caught a glimpse of humour in Fenris's very green eyes. It dawned on Hawke that the surly elf was actually trying to tease him. It was surprising, coming from the swordsman who up until now had dealt with Hawke at arm's length, treating him with an _almost hardly earned_ suspicion. Surprising, indeed. It was also a little endearing, Hawke thought, to see him tiptoe out of his taciturn, prickly shell a little more.

“Oh, so _you're_ funny now,” he taunted back without hesitation. “You should be a comedian on the side of all your brooding. If you have the time, that is.” He winked.

"Ha-ha,” Fenris said flatly, but he was smiling faintly again. “I'd hate to put you out of a job, Hawke.” He drank deeply from his tankard. Hawke watched his throat move as he swallowed.

“Elemental then,” Fenris said, wiping his mouth.

Hawke nodded, looking away quickly. “Fire, ice, the whole thing. Terribly exciting, you know. Impressive, some might say.”

“Some might,” Fenris said, his eyes narrowed and calculating. However, it didn't escape Hawke's attention that the smile still played on his lips. The fact that they were also rather nice, full lips didn't escape him either.

_Whoops_.

“I grew up on farms, mostly,” Hawke rambled to distract himself. “I don't think my parents ever pictured...any of _this,_ the Blight or being a refugee in _Templar Town_ for me or the twins. So, our father taught us magical skills that were more practical and defensive rather than flashy and offensive. Fire magic for the cold, cold magic for the heat, earth magic to help the crops and land and so on. The odds of having a magical child are slim, but _two_? Maker, my poor mother's heart when Bethany set the house on fire at five years old.”

Fenris hummed in response, and they both drank again.

“My brother tried to stop her getting in trouble and blamed me, the little nug-humper. Or maybe he knew what it meant and just didn't want to be the only one left out of father's lessons. Anyway, I got skelped for that before my father realised.”

“Skelped?”

“Sorry. Ferelden word. It means to be beaten, I guess. Clipped on the ear, not smacked around.”

“I see,” Fenris sounded genuinely interested in that. “Skelped.” He said it aloud as though he were making a mental note.

“But my father was strict about us learning our...distraction tricks, more than anything else. For when things got hairy.”

“And did they?”

"Get hairy? Oh, yes. Hairier than Varric.”

“I think _you_ have more hair than the dwarf.”

“I do?” Hawke laughed, looking down his shirt at his chest and wondering when Fenris had noticed _that_. “ _Very_ sorry.”

“Don't be,” the elf said appraisingly, his tone low. His eyes followed the open line of his linen shirt. Hawke jerked slightly and for the first time in a very long time, he felt his face redden. He was very glad for his beard right now, he thought and he scratched at it self-consciously. He swallowed, unsure if the elf had meant anything by the comment, or if Hawke was little drunker than he thought. He opened his mouth to try to say something witty in return. But before he could, Fenris spoke again.

“I've seen you heal though. In fact, I thought that was your school. Like your friend, Anders there.” He used the word 'friend', but Hawke was fairly sure he meant to say 'f _reakish abomination_ ' judging by his acidic tone. At least he was half-pretending to be polite, Hawke thought.

“Spirit healing? It is too, I suppose,” he said hesitantly. “I'll never be as knowledgable as Anders, but I learned a few surface healing spells when we were younger. We were scrappy little buggers. Now, I try to study it over anything else, because well...”

“Because,” Fenris prompted him to continue. He was watching him searchingly.

“I...” Hawke paused. He hadn't spoken about any of this before, with anyone. Nobody had asked him, now that he thought about it. However this wasn't something he would have liked to discuss usually, even if someone _had_ shown an interest in his past. His childhood was private and a part of his life that hurt to dwell on. Especially now that so much of it lay in ruins, smouldering with half of his family dead. Ferelden as he knew it and Hawke, the farmboy were both nothing but a bloodied smear on the map of Thedas now. Talking and getting upset about it wouldn't change that. He decided to blame the piss water here that dared call itself ale for his maudlin chattiness.

“Because now I have people I need to protect, things to protect them from. After Carver...that was my brother,” Hawke added, noticing Fenris's questioning look. “He died during our escape from the Blight. After that happened...then I knew that I had to protect my mother and sister. That's why I've turned to healing magic now. I just want to make sure they see it through all this...mess.”

Hawke crossed his big arms as he recited, “'b _e that which is best in you, not that which is most base.'_ That's what my father used to say about our magic. I suppose that's what I'm trying to do.” He paused. “Wait. What was I talking about again?”

Fenris, who had been looking at him intently, blinked and smirked. “No idea, Hawke. I stopped listening about half an hour ago. Nothing worse than a mage who goes on and on.” He took a swig of his ale.

“What did you just say,” demanded Anders angrily, who had overheard them.

Hawke burst out laughing, and Fenris coughed into his tankard. They were both still shaking when Anders turned away from them, grousing.

“Not you, friend,” Hawke said, barely keeping his laughter in check. “He was talking about me.” Fenris was still wiping the ale from his chin when Hawke laughed and punched him on an armoured shoulder lightly. “Rude,” he scolded him mockingly. Fenris stiffened, but didn't say anything.

Isabela caught his eye knowingly, and she winked in Fenris's direction. He ignored her.

“I _was_ listening,” said Fenris after he'd cleaned himself up. “And I'm sorry for your loss.”

Hawke shrugged.

“You're an...interesting man, Hawke.”

“Why, thank you.”

“For a mage.”

“Ouch. So close, Fenris. I thought you said you were going to practice your _flattery_!”

Fenris chuckled again. “Practice makes perfect.”

Maker, he was lovely when he smiled. Hawke sighed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on tumblr. Come [ say hi on there too! ](http://captaincorale.tumblr.com) :-)


End file.
